Enduring Love (Sydney Cove Book #3): A Novel

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1

Love can overcome anything, thought Hannah Bradshaw as she stepped out of the modest theater and looked down the street toward the center of Sydney Town. It had only been three years since that terrible winter in 1804 when she’d first set foot in this community as a prisoner. It felt like a lifetime ago.

New South Wales was growing up. The town bustled with activity. There were clothing shops, apothecaries, bakeries, a bank, and even a fine restaurant. A carriage moved past, its inhabitants hidden inside. Glancing up at her husband, Hannah thought, Life is perfect.

What a splendid day, John said. Even if it is unseasonably cool for autumn.

I’m almost afraid to feel this happy. Hannah rested a hand on his arm, liking the feel of his wool coat. She leaned against him; thankfulness for his enduring devotion enveloped her in warmth. Although they’d begun their journey together under dire circumstances, they’d managed to find love and, together, had stood resiliently against the world’s storms. He smiled down at her and Hannah felt her heart quicken—John still had the power to take her breath away.

She looked at her friends. So much had happened since coming to New South Wales. She’d met Lydia onboard the prison ship and they’d been chums since. And then there was Perry who had grown up on the streets of London but stood with John through the excruciating days onboard the ghastly ship and then the terror that met them in Sydney Town. Perry’s new bride, Gwen, had been employed at the Athertons’ when Hannah had joined the household, and she’d welcomed her right off, brightening her days there. Even David, who’d been raised among the well-to-do in London, was a valued friend. He’d become Parramatta’s physician and Lydia’s husband. And was a gift to them all.

Perry pulled Gwen protectively under one arm. He smiled down at her. How did I manage to get along without ye?

Her eyes alight, Gwen snuggled in close to her husband. I don’t know. She giggled. How did ye?

Lydia tucked an arm into David’s. Love is grand. It conquers all. Don’t ye agree, husband?

I do at that. David startled her by brushing her lips with his.

A rare blush colored her cheeks. David! We’re in public.

You two behave as if you’re still newly wed, John said with a laugh.

We are. Lydia gave David a tender look. It’s been a scant two months since we said our vows.

Perry nuzzled Gwen’s neck and she giggled. He pulled her closer. And for us, two days. He grinned devilishly. How ’bout we go back to the hotel, luv?

Blushing, Gwen leaned against him.

Hannah smiled at her friends, their ardor reminding her of how it had been for her and John in the beginning. Her passion and John’s love had taken her by surprise.

We’ll see ye later. Perry grasped Gwen’s hand and the two hurried toward the hotel.

John’s arm went around Hannah. Remember?

It’s not been that long ago. She gave him a playful squeeze. So, luv, what did you think of the play? John asked.

I think Shakespeare is a masterful playwright.

"That he is. And The Merry Wives of Windsor was quite amusing."

It was at that. Hannah met his hazel eyes. With all the tomfoolery, I was beginning to wonder if Anne and Fenton would end up together. I’m glad they did. They were meant for each other. Admiring the way John’s dark curls framed his strong angular face, she was tempted to brush a strand of untamed hair off his forehead, but she refrained.

His attention moved to something across the street. The color drained from his face.

John. What is it? Hannah followed his gaze, searching for whatever was distressing her husband. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Normal foot traffic moved up and down the street, and a woman stood outside the boardinghouse. Although quite handsome, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about her. Reddish brown hair had been tucked up beneath a stylish hat. Eyes so dark they were nearly black found John and stared back at him. A look of surprise touched them, then changed to delight.

Hannah felt a thump of alarm. John? She grabbed his arm. He seemed unaware of her.

What’s gotten into ye? Do ye know her? Lydia folded her arms over her chest and stared at the stranger. Who is it?

John made no reply, but Hannah could feel the tension in his body.

John? Hannah tried to draw him closer, but he was unyielding and she let loose of his arm. Who is she? Her fear mounted. Why did this stranger have such a profound effect on her husband?

After glancing up and down the street, the auburn-haired stranger crossed and walked purposefully toward John. She moved with confidence, her arms swinging freely at her sides and her hips swaying. Hannah’s insides churned. Something was terribly wrong. Who was this woman? And why was John staring at her as if he were seeing an apparition?

He took a step away from Hannah. Holding his back rigid and his jaw locked, he waited as if for an assault.

The woman was close now. Smiling, she showed off perfect teeth. John, I can barely believe my luck at finding you so quickly. She took his hands in hers, stood at arm’s length, and gazed at him.

John’s eyes were hard and accusing.

After all this time, I’d think you’d have something to say. Aren’t you happy to see me?

Margaret, he whispered.

Like the roar of a cannon, the name reverberated through Hannah’s mind. Margaret was his late wife’s name.

Why are you looking at me so? the woman asked.

I thought you dead.

Dead? Shock flashed across Margaret’s face. I can assure you I’m very much alive. Although I nearly died from a stomach ailment . . . after you disappeared. Sorrow creased her face. I needed you so badly. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. By the time I was recovered enough to search for you, you’d been transported. Tears pooled and spilled onto her cheeks. I thought I’d lost you forever. She managed a tremulous smile. But I’ve found you. It’s like a miracle. I’ve been searching so long.

John’s expression remained harsh.

Margaret’s eyes went to David and Lydia and then rested on Hannah. Don’t you think you ought to introduce your . . . friends?

As if waking from a trance, John looked at his companions. With a nod he said, This is David and Lydia Gelson. He moved closer to Hannah and rested a hand on her back. This is Hannah . . . my wife.

Margaret pressed her fingers to her lips. Your wife? She turned dark eyes on Hannah as if looking at something fearful, and then looked back to John. Then . . . who am I?

Hannah could feel her pulse throbbing throughout her body. Trying to keep her voice from trembling, she asked, John?

Without looking at Hannah, he squared his jaw and said austerely, This is Margaret.

"I’ve heard her name before, but who is she?"

John didn’t answer.

Margaret’s gaze returned to Hannah’s. I’m his wife. I’ve been trying to find him since he left London. She turned to John. And now I have and . . . and . . . She seemed to fight to control her emotions. And you’re married to someone else?

Lydia stepped forward. This is some sort of horrible trick. John can’t have another wife. He’s married to Hannah.

Lydia. David took her arm. Perhaps you and I should go to the hotel and give John and Hannah and . . . Margaret time alone.

Alone? Hannah thought. There are three of us. How can we be alone? Her heart thrummed so hard she wondered if it might fly out of her chest. She stared at the woman and then looked at John. You said she had died.

I thought she had. That’s what I was told. His eyes implored Hannah to believe him.

Feeling as if she might shatter into pieces, Hannah grabbed for something solid to hang on to and finally pressed a hand against a storefront wall. She looked at Lydia, who could not conceal her shock and sympathy. Hannah took a step back. Blackness enveloped her and she thought she might be sick. I . . . I’m going to our room. She looked from John to Margaret, unable to believe what she was seeing, and then turned and hurried toward the hotel. Don’t faint. Don’t faint, she thought, keeping a hand on the wall and walking as swiftly as she could manage.

She stepped into the hotel lobby. Lord, how can this be? What am I to do? She fought back tears, not wanting anyone to see her anguish.

Hannah, wait. John’s voice carried through the hotel lobby.

She hurried her steps. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak to him. He was married . . . to someone else. Dear Lord!

His steps echoed behind her, moving closer. Hannah. Please. Wait. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

Hannah walked faster. Leave me be. I can’t speak to you now. She kept her eyes forward and continued walking. She could barely see and felt as if she were moving through a dark tunnel. Go away.

Hannah, please listen. I thought she was dead. And now . . . that she’s not, it changes nothing. I’ll have naught to do with her. She betrayed me—she and Henry. They took everything of value to me. I want nothing to do with her. I love only you. Please believe me.

Standing behind the dressing panel, Hannah shivered as she slipped her sleeping gown over her head. She hugged herself, not wanting to step outside of the protective shield. John was there, morose and silent. He shouldn’t even be in her room. He had another wife.

Trying to slow her breathing and quiet her trembling, Hannah moved from behind the panel and crossed to the bureau. Releasing her dark hair from its pins, she gave it several strokes with a brush. Without a glance at John, she moved to the bed and slipped between cold sheets. She lay down and pulled the blankets up over her, holding her body stiff and still. The window had been left open and a chill breeze ruffled the curtains.

John sat in a straight-backed chair, his arms pressed against his thighs, hands clasped as if in prayer. He stared at the floor.

Hannah knew he anguished just as she did, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She put out the lamp and the night enveloped them. Lying on her back, she remained still, staring at the ceiling hidden by the blackness. Night sounds carried in from outside—a frog chirped and someone’s growling cough carried up from the city street; distant voices chatted. And then it was quiet.

Hannah was thankful for the refuge of the darkness. God help me. I don’t know what to do. She closed her eyes and Margaret’s handsome face popped into her mind. Trepidation and misery pressed down on her. Did she have to be so stunning? Hannah felt plain in comparison.

The chair creaked, and Hannah heard the sounds of John undressing. He draped his shirt and then his pants over the chair, then crossed the room. Hannah couldn’t see him, but she knew he stood beside the bed . . . for a long while. She waited, breathing shallowly. The mattress gave and John lay down, lying motionless.

Hannah remained still. How can we live like this? It’s impossible. Knowing the question had to be raised, she asked, What are we to do?

For a long moment, John made no reply, then he whispered, I don’t know.

He reached for Hannah’s hand, but she withdrew, unable to bear his touch.

I’ll divorce her.

Divorce is not a solution. You know it’s almost never allowed.

She deceived me. She and my cousin Henry took my company, the business my father built, and every penny I had. She’s not my wife. She never was, not really. What wife would treat her husband so? It was all a sham.

Hannah didn’t want to defend Margaret, but she and John must face the truth. How do you know she did those things?

I just know. She was seen leaving our home with Henry. They went away together, and then the money disappeared from my bank account. I was told Henry made the withdrawal.

Henry, not Margaret. Hannah pushed up on one elbow, facing John. If she dishonored you that way, then why would she come here now? Perhaps you’ve misjudged her. Hannah didn’t want to voice what was in her mind, but it must be said. I saw love in her eyes, John. Love for you.

Silence, like a dark presence, spread through the room. When John spoke, his voice was heavy and thick. Even if that’s true . . . it doesn’t matter. I don’t love her anymore. You’re my only love. You’re my wife.

You’re already married, John. Don’t you see? We’re not husband and wife.

We are. John’s voice was resolute.

No, John, we’re not.

2

Lydia and David led the way. John followed Hannah. His eyes grazed the room crowded with early morning breakfasters, mostly families. How ’bout next to the window? He tried to keep his voice light. He noticed two business acquaintances sitting near the back. The elder gentleman, Mr. Phelps, nodded. John lifted his hat to him, then tucked it beneath one arm. With a glance about the unpretentious restaurant, he was thankful to see no one else of consequence. He wasn’t up to polite conversation.

Perfect, Lydia said. The clouds have gone, and the morning sun will feel good. She moved toward the front of the room, with David hurrying to keep up.

Perry followed, Gwen on his arm. It’ll probably be hot by the time we start for home.

His hand pressed lightly against Hannah’s back, John steered her to the table. Beneath his palm, he could feel the tightness of her muscles. Pulling out a chair, he chanced a glance and saw tightly pursed lips and dark, unhappy eyes. She didn’t look at him. He took the seat beside her.

Perry leaned back in his chair and, taking a big breath, expanded his narrow rib cage. It’s a fine day. He sounded overly cheerful.

Gwen laid a hand on Perry’s arm. It is. Her eyes went to Hannah, then quickly moved to Lydia. She smiled. I wish we could stay longer.

Lydia pushed back loose hairs that had fallen onto her face. Me too. And that dreadful road—I don’t look forward to it. She placed her hands on the table in front of her and leaned toward John and Hannah. So . . . I suppose we can ignore your predicament and go on with our breakfast as if nothing’s changed, but that wouldn’t be right.

Hannah looked at Lydia, surprise in her eyes.

What are ye two going to do?

Hannah pressed her lips more tightly together and glanced at John.

He shook his head. It was just like Lydia to steer straight into trouble. He closed his eyes, wishing the whole matter would disappear. He didn’t want to discuss it. Margaret was a part of his life he wanted to forget.

What Henry and Margaret had done glared at him from the past, and he couldn’t look away. Revulsion and fury roared through John. His mind rewound and he felt as if he were still in prison and just learning of their treachery. They’d done to him what no person had the right to do to any other. Margaret had defiled their marriage bed by lying with Henry, and then while he was suffering in prison, they’d stripped him of his business and his assets. Everything he and his father had worked for had been taken.

John clenched his teeth. He thought he’d put all this behind him, forgiven the wrongs done . . . but when he’d seen Margaret, he’d again tasted bitterness and rage.

Lydia unfolded her napkin. It’s unbelievable Margaret thinks she can simply saunter up to you after all this time and act as if nothing has happened. The nerve . . . She dropped the napkin on her lap then fixed her eyes on John. So, what are ye going to do?

David rested a hand on Lydia’s arm. Luv, I’m sure if he wanted us to know, he’d have said.

Lydia glanced at David’s hand. I simply thought we might be of help.

John needed to say something. He looked at Hannah, hoping for encouragement, but she stared at clasped hands in her lap. He looked back to Lydia. As far as I’m concerned, Margaret is dead. I don’t intend to give her the time of day. We shan’t see each other again, I’m certain of that.

A decree of divorce should be forthcoming then, eh? Lydia pressed.

Not easy to do. Perry leaned his elbows on the table. I knew a bloke once who tried to divorce his wife; he had good cause, but he never managed to get one. He lived the rest of his life with the wench on one side and her father on the other, musket ready. He chuckled.

Gwen jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

What? What did I say? It’s the truth. His smirk disappeared. I’ve never known one person who managed to free themselves, not unless their spouse went off with someone else.

I doubt anyone would want a woman like her, David said. If it were the right bloke, he’d take her, said Lydia. What ’bout that newly widowed constable? He might be looking for a wife. She is comely. Perhaps we ought to inquire.

John felt a flicker of hope. Do you think it possible to divorce if she has another suitor?

Lydia shrugged. Maybe. I’m wondering if she came because there’s a need for wives in New South Wales. There are a lot of men without women. Lydia rested her chin in one hand.

Not likely, Perry said. She wouldn’t have any trouble finding a husband in London, treacherous or not.

John studied a brilliantly colored butterfly fluttering against the window. It tried again and again to get inside, its delicate wings trembling. I’ve just cause for divorce—after what she and Henry did.

I should say you do. Lydia’s tone was heated. That woman was more than unfaithful, she—

John held up a hand to shush her. Enough. He didn’t want to hear more. And he could see all this talk was upsetting Hannah. She’d turned ashen. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. I shall apply for a divorce.

As Perry said, it’s not so easily done. Hannah’s voice quaked.

That may be so, but I’m determined. It shall be accomplished whether she has another suitor or not. The fear and hurt in Hannah’s voice pierced John’s heart. This wasn’t fair to her. His rancor intensified. It was so like Margaret to do what pleased her with no thought to anyone else.

Not to worry, luv. I’ll see to Margaret. She’ll not have her way. He lifted Hannah’s hand and kissed the back of her fingers. Trust me.

Hannah nodded, but she barely looked at him.

A cranky-looking woman, wearing an apron blemished with spatterings of the morning’s fare, set platters of eggs, toast, and hot porridge on the table. She returned a moment later with a stack of plates and a handful of utensils. I’ll be back with tea and coffee, if ye like.

We do. Lydia picked up a plate, dished a helping of eggs onto it and a slice of toast, and set it in front of David. Gwen did the same for Perry, then scooped out a bit of hot cereal for herself.

John picked up a plate. What would you like, luv?

Nothing. I’m not hungry.

John studied her a moment. The eggs look fresh.

No. Tea is all I want.

All right, then. John served himself eggs and toast.

The woman returned with tea and coffee, placing them on the table. Anything more I can get ye?

I think we’re fine, David said.

With a nod, she moved away.

Hannah lifted the kettle and poured herself a cup of tea and then stirred in a bit of sugar.

It will be a long trip home. John leaned closer to Hannah. You’d best have something to eat.

I said . . . I’m not hungry. Hannah’s tone was sharp.

Just meant to help.

Hannah flashed him a heated look. There’s nothing you can do to help.

John’s natural response would be to defend himself. Instead he returned to his breakfast and his thoughts. There must be a solution. He took a bite of egg. It was tasteless. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a drink of the dark brew. He looked into the cup. Bitter, like my life.

Conversation came in fits and starts and finally died altogether. When the meal was nearly completed, the woman who had served them returned. Is one of ye John Bradshaw?

John set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. That would be me. She handed him a small envelope and walked away.

He looked at it, turning it over and over in his hands. He knew it was from Margaret. He glanced at the others.

Lydia set her spoon aside. Well, are ye going to read it?

John slipped an index finger beneath a wax seal, opened the envelope, and lifted out a note. He didn’t want to read it. Margaret couldn’t possibly have anything to say that he wanted to hear. Still, his eyes dropped to the note. He immediately recognized the florid script.

My dearest John. I am at a loss to explain my feelings, but I will do my best. I am delighted to have finally found you, and yet my heart is breaking over your austere reception. I have dreamed of our reunion and what it would be like. Your rebuff confuses me. I can only guess at your reasons.

It seems we have much to talk about, especially upon learning that you’ve remarried. I understand why you would take a wife when believing me to be dead. However, I must point out that your present marriage is invalid since you are still married to me.

John felt the hard thrum of his heart. It was true—Hannah was not his legal wife.

Please come to me at the boardinghouse so we can talk. I will do my best to explain all that has happened since your arrest. You must believe it was never my intention that you be imprisoned and sent to this godforsaken country. I love you. I always have. Yours sincerely . . . Margaret.

John reread the note. Was it possible he had misunderstood the circumstances of her disappearance? He tucked the letter back into the envelope, then looked at his companions and at Hannah. It’s from Margaret. She wants to speak to me. This is all quite a mess. I must go.

If it were possible, Hannah’s skin became even more ashen. Her chin trembled and she fought tears. John took her hand. We must sort this out so we can go on with our lives. Try not to worry, luv. Everything will be fine. I promise.

Of course it will be. Lydia smiled encouragement. "The Lord wouldn’t bring ye together to